Arkham
by ArkhamInquirer
Summary: A new doctor is hired at Arkham Asylum. Tell me, what do you see?


I submit my application.

"You come highly recommended, Doctor Fossor. Top of your class in criminal psychology. I do have to warn you, though, the residents of Arkham Asylum are some of the most… difficult and dangerous inmates in the world. Are you sure you want to do this?"

I submit my application. The ticking of my watch is deafening. My heart is in my mouth.

"Eh? You ditched a comfy job in Metropolis for this joint? The heck is wrong with you, Doc?"

My pen touches the page. The ink is still wet. I don't want to look at it.

"Doctor Jonathan Crane. I must say, it's an honor to meet you."

"Why wouldn't it be? I'm an expert in my field, Doctor…"

"Doctor Fossor. Carter Fossor. I'll be your psychologist, today."

"I see. Well, perhaps you'll be more receptive to my lessons than the last five."

My heels click against the polished white floor. I blink carefully. Not too fast, and not too slow.

"Are you sure you saw someone down here, Doc? Usually people avoid this wing of the Asylum. Y'know, ghost stories and all that."

"Don't worry. I saw them just up ahead. We only have a little farther to go."

I look at myself in the mirror. I flinch every time a drop of water hits the clean white sink.

"May I ask what such a handsome Doctor wants with little old me?"

"Please, Doctor Isely, flattery will get you nowhere. Or would you like me to call you Poison Ivy?"

"You can call me whatever you want. I'm sure I've heard worse."

"I'm told you've actually been dealing with some harassment in recent weeks. You must feel unsafe, here."

"Don't worry about me, Doctor. My attackers always get what they have coming."

"Interesting. I was just about to discuss a similar subject with you."

I look in the mirror. The bags under my eyes are getting worse. It feels like I haven't slept in days.

"I'm glad to finally get a chance to meet you. Every medical school in the country studies your mind. Your actions. Very few ever actually get to meet you, after what happened with Doctor Quinzel."

"Oh, pish posh! What's the matter? Afraid they'll fall in love with me too?"

"Maybe. You're a skilled manipulator, according to your case file."

"Do you believe everything they say about me? What about you, Doc? What's in your file? What's rattling around in your brain?"

I look in the mirror. A monster stares back at me.

"You know, I used to think the Batman had it right. What he did. When I was getting closer to graduation, I actually thought about donning a mask myself, you know. Getting out there and helping the world."

"What changed?"

"He's just like the people in here, I notice. They're all just sick. Sick people, doing what sick people do"

I look in the mirror and run a hand through my curly brown hair. My nose is bleeding.

"May I ask why you called me in, Warden?"

"You know exactly why you're here, Carter. I'm very disappointed in you. Assaulting patients? Not to mention the type of things you've been discussing with them. One more infraction, and you'll be disbarred so quickly it'll make your head spin."

"I can't say I'm aware of what you're talking about, Sir."

"You do realize we record sessions, right? Not to mention the fact that the guards had to pry you off of Pamela Isley. You're cracking. Maybe it would be better if you took a couple weeks off. Got things straight."

"She deserved it, Sir."

"What did you say?"

"I said she deserved it. If you were actually interested in helping people, you would have let me finish my work with her."

I look in the mirror. I don't like what I see. I throw up in the sink.

"You know, Doc, you've got a pretty funny name, you know that?"

"Fossor? Why do you find it funny?"

"Oh come ON Doc! What are they teaching you in those schools, these days?"

I fish a ring of keys out of my pockets and open a cell door. The metal is cold. My whole body is shaking.

"This place does things to people. Bad things."

"What makes you say that, Doc? You aren't getting cold feet on me now, are you?"

"No, but… Doctors are corrupted in Gotham, aren't they? Doctor Fries, Doctor Quinzel, Doctor Isely, Doctor Crane… I'm just another name in a long list…"

"No no no, Doc, you've got it all wrong! Gotham doesn't corrupt people, it lets them show who they really are! You aren't being driven insane! No no no, you were just hiding in sanity!"

Laughter bounces off of the walls. There are two voices laughing.

"Y-You know, I used to think the Batman had it right…"

"Old Batsy? He's got style, I'll give him that, but there's no sense of pizzazz! No showmanship!"

"I always thought that those who were evil needed to be punished, but now I see. Now I see that people like you aren't evil. You're sick. You're sick, just like me, and we all just do what sick people do…"

I look at my mask. It's a clown. I look at my hands. They're bloody, but I can't wash them off.

I don't want to wash them off anymore.

I look in the mirror and start laughing at what I see.

Just another sick person, doing what sick people do.


End file.
